


Love's A Game, Wanna Play?

by leigh_adams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Diary/Journal, F/M, Romantic Comedy, Secret Relationship, Workplace Sex, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:19:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leigh_adams/pseuds/leigh_adams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parvati gives herself very good advice. Too bad she very seldom follows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love's A Game, Wanna Play?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [katmarajade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/katmarajade/gifts).



> Written for the 2015 round at [. Thanks to katmarajade for the prompt, and to mugglechump for the beta! This story is set in the same universe as ](http://interhouse_fest.livejournal.com)[Trick for Treat](http://venividiscribi.livejournal.com/78959.html) and [This Is Not A Love Story](http://venividiscribi.livejournal.com/59892.html).

**_May 1, 2003_ **

**_For someone who ~~makes a living as a writer~~ writes horoscopes and makeup tips for middle aged witches, I'm not entirely keen on this whole idea. If only because I can see months and months worth of blackmail in my future if anyone ever found this. I've had this bloody book for two years, and my last entry was... six months ago. _ **

**_But Padma says it might be a good idea. Apparently she finds it 'refreshing,' or some bother. She's also the same girl who finds a Saturday evening spent at the British Museum refreshing, so... yeah, fuck if I know. I'm twenty-three years old and, for four years, have spent every working day making tea for my editor and telling women which shade of lipstick is right for their skin tone._ **

**_Like, I like makeup! And I like astrology. I just never realized how bloody boring it could be as a steady diet._ **

**_Went on a date last night, some chap friend of Seamus's from work. He was... nice. That's the best way to describe it. He wasn't quite milquetoast (see, Padma, I DO know smart vocabulary words! ~~Oh god, please don't kill me if you ever read this. Burn it. BURN IT.~~ ). He just didn't have much personality. He didn't even try and get into my knickers, for fuck's sake. Like, I am a strong, intelligent, sexual creature. Who WOULDN'T want to shag me? _ **

**_Not this bloke, apparently. Just a chaste kiss goodnight, no bloody tongue. Let's just say there won't be a second date._ **

**_Of course, it would help if I wasn't thinking of someone else. It's time to be strong, Parvati. It's time to find someone right. Will find nice sensible boyfriend and stop forming romantic attachments to any of the following: alcoholics, workaholics, sexaholics, commitment-phobics, peeping toms, megalomaniacs, emotional fuckwits, or perverts. Will especially stop fantasizing about a particular person who embodies all these things._ **

**_Bloody men._ **

♥ ♥ ♥

"Ms. Patil!"

Parvati's head jerked up from her notebook, where she'd been doodling in the margins. She'd already finished the monthly horoscopes for the next issue, and all that was left to do on her to-do list were five hundred words on the hottest nail polish trends for the summer. Too bad she could have summed up five hundred words in one: _neon_.

Still, she managed an interested smile when her editor, Eleanor Ivers, popped her head out of the office. "Yes?" 

"Can you fetch me a coffee? I've got a meeting in fifteen minutes, and I just haven't the time to grab it myself." 

She felt the corner of her eye twitch, but the smile stayed in place. "Of course. I'll bring it right over."

At the faint sound of her boss's thanks, Parvati felt her lips rearrange themselves into a scowl. _Four bloody years_ , and some days, it felt like all she was adding to her CV was the ability to perfect a caramel macchiato. If Eleanor had been a bit more of a bitch, it would have been easier to dislike her boss. Unfortunately, she was kindness in human form. At least it made the coffee runs easier to bear.

"Fuck," she muttered under her breath, pushing back from her desk in a rush -- and running smack dab into another human. She shrieked and would have gone crashing to the ground, if not for a strong hand grabbing her elbow and keeping her upright. 

Wide eyes flickered up to see her knight in tarnished armor -- Blaise Zabini. 

Blaise had been at the magazine as long as she had, but somehow was already an assistant editor. Likely because he was going down after hours on all the right people. Apparently, it worked. He was the constant bane of her existence, if only because he made it _so bloody hard to concentrate_. Walking around in denims that hugged his arse just perfectly, and tailored V-neck jumpers. Why he worked at at _Witch Weekly_ , she had no idea.

But she _so_ was not complaining.

"If you're taking orders," he commented with a curl of his lips, "I'll have an espresso." 

Parvati's nose crinkled, and she jerked her arm out of his grasp. "Make your own bloody espresso, Zabini. I'm busy." She could handle making a coffee run for her immediate superior. She was _not_ about make coffee for Blaise bloody Zabini.

She whirled around and flounced off, her gold pumps clicking on the cheap linoleum. Hmph. That would show him... except for the steady thump of heavy footprints following along behind her.

"I can see that." She didn't have to look behind her to hear the amusement in his voice. "What did they say this month's column was on? Korean facial masks?"

"Nail polish," she ground out through clenched teeth. Why, oh _why_ , did someone so attractive have to be such an arse? She as a witty, intelligent woman, but whenever he was in her general vicinity, her thought process shortened to, _Shiny. I want_. 

"Ah yes, nail lacquer. I hear neon is trending for the summer. I see you've decided to beat the curve, with that skirt and blouse combo."

As they entered the break room, Parvati turned about quickly to face him. "What does that mean?" Despite herself, she glanced down at her outfit -- which was adorable, thank you very much. Sure, maybe it was a bit _too_ much pink -- but there was clearly no such thing. Her bright pink pencil skirt paired perfectly with the pink and gold silk blouse. What did Zabini know about women's fashion? His favorite color was black!

He held his hands up. "Nothing," he assured her, lips twitching. "It's just a bit... bright. But attractively so. Like a homing beacon."

"Charming, Zabini." Rolling her eyes, she turned to the espresso machine and waved her wand to get it moving. The sooner she got back to her desk -- and away from the object of her lust -- the better. 

"I've been told so." She felt him move behind her, and _did his hand just graze her arse?_ She was keenly aware of his body behind hers, his breath on the back of her neck. Parvati felt her body reacting in a way that was _so_ not appropriate for the workplace. She tensed when he murmured, "Same time tomorrow?"

And then he was gone. 

"Bugger me."

♥ ♥ ♥

**  
_June 4, 2003_  
**

**_He's taunting me. That's what it is. He is taunting me with his tailored trousers and his searing, soulful gaze, and those cheekbones that could cut glass. It. Just. Isn't. Fair. Like, why do I have to work with someone so bloody attractive? He's not a nice bloke. Oh no, he is so not a good boy to take home to Mum and Dad._ **

**_But I'm young, and I'm single, and if I'm looking for a good shag, who could blame me? Not that there's been any bloody shagging lately. Flirting? Yes. Innuendo? Too much. Inappropriate almost touches that could get either one of us hauled into Human Resources for sexual harassment violations? I can neither confirm nor deny such things._ **

**_Lavender's got a new bloke. Muggle chap, teaches yoga at some loft studio in Stoke Newington. She's trying to get me to take one of his classes with her. And I have been putting that one off for as long as possible. She knows I abhor physical activity! Like, there is no point in trying to contort myself into unnatural positions so my chi can be clear, or whatever. Maybe they'll break up before I have to actually commit to attending._ **

**_Am I a terrible friend for writing that down?_ **

♥ ♥ ♥

So close. Parvati had been good all bloody evening. She'd only had a few -- alright, four or five -- glasses of champagne, so she couldn't blame the alcohol. No one had hexed, charmed, or otherwise spelled her into acting abnormally. She'd worked the room with the other _Witch Weekly_ writers, all the while pretending she gave a damn about whatever the British and Irish League's current charity of choice.

(In her defense, she'd at least written it down. It was childhood literacy). 

So. Bloody. Close.

Why had he been standing _right_ behind her when she'd stepped outside for some fresh air? Was it because of her incredible allure? Her backless dress that was _almost_ indecent? Or just a kettle that had reached the boiling pot. Whatever the reason, he'd been close enough that when she'd turned to say something remarkably witting and cutting to his opening line of "Patil," only his hand closing around her wrist kept her from stumbling backward. 

And then his lips were on hers, and Parvati didn't couldn't really recall anything until he'd tugged her into the loo. 

_Merlin_ , he was a damn good kisser. Her arms wound tightly around his neck when his hands gripped her hips and lifted her to sit on the sink. The porcelain rim dug into her arse, but that sensation was secondary to his hand sliding up her thigh. 

Parvati moaned and shifted, legs parting to allow him to step between them. Blaise's lips trailed down her neck and over her chest, tracing her V-neckline with his tongue while his fingers slowly and steadily moved higher beneath her cocktail dress. 

"Are you a good girl, Parvati?" he murmured against her chest. Moving his lips slightly to the side, he raked his teeth over the tip of her breast. She couldn't help but moan. Despite the two layers of silk between his lips and her skin, the heat of his touch sent a rush of arousal thrumming through her blood. 

"Define _good_ ," she replied huskily. Her hands went to his belt, and they were shaking as she fumbled with the silver buckle. She nearly whined with frustration when the stiff leather refused to budge.

Blaise laughed, a low and rich sound that sent shivers over her skin. " _Good_. Good girls who wear silky knickers beneath tiny little cocktail dresses." One large hand closed over hers, and in a quick move that would have annoyed her if she wasn't so bloody turned on, he undid his belt with one hand. 

It wasn't graceful, but Parvati shoved her hand inside his trousers and grasped his erection. Her lips curled in satisfaction; for all Blaise Zabini's cool confidence and stoic facade, he couldn't hide _that_. He was hot and hard beneath her palm -- evidence he wanted _her_.

"Why don't you find out?" 

His fingers were between her thighs and inside of her before she could say anything else. Parvati let her head fall back against the mirror as she moaned his name. Her grip on his cock loosened because when he pressed his thumb in _that_ spot, she saw stars. His fingers never stopped moving inside of her, the slickness of her sex making it easy for him to wind her higher and higher. Her toes curled, body tightening; little, gasping moans and sighs signaling her impending orgasm.

Her heart was racing when suddenly, he was gone. Her eyes flew open in disbelief, her body aching -- she was _so close_ , and there was a heavy pulse between her legs where his hand had once been. "What the fu--?"

Blaise's lips found hers in a forceful, bruising kiss, cutting off her protest. She gasped and nipped at his tongue, but his distraction worked. His hands pushed his trousers and briefs down so he could thrust inside of her. 

" _Oh God_." With every thrust, he pinned her tighter against the sink. The mirror behind her shook with the force of his hips. As keyed up as she was, she climaxed nearly immediately -- and still he kept going, pushing her back to the brink. 

"Fuck me, Blaise," she breathed, clinging to him and biting at the taut tendon in his neck. " _Harder_."

"Would you like that?" He grunted between thrusts. One hand moved to grasp her breast, tweaking the nipple through her dress. "Should I fuck you hard now, and softer later?" His tongue traced the shell of her ear, and that small movement made her whimper and arch her back. 

Parvati's hands braced above her head as her body tensed. "I don't care," she moaned, "just don't stop _that_."

"I don't intend to." His head fell back, and in a raw, unguarded moment, Parvati's eyes opened to see the look of pleasure on his face as he spilled inside of her. Almost lazily, he reached between her legs to gently rub at her swollen nub. His lips curled when she climaxed again after approximately five seconds of teasing. When he opened his eyes, his gaze found hers, and he leaned in to kiss her deeply. 

Pulling away, he smirked at her in satisfaction. "What do you say to a repeat performance at my place? I have _got_ to get that silly little dress off of you."

Pleased as the cat who got the canary _and_ her bowl of cream, Parvati returned his smirk with one of her own. "Let's see how long you can go, Zabini."

"All night long, Patil. All. Night. Long."

♥ ♥ ♥

**  
_July 31, 2003_  
**

**_Days since I started shagging Blaise Zabini: 45_ **

**_Alcohol units: Approximately 500_ **

**_Orgasms: I have long since lost count._ **

**_Ladies and gentlemen, this just in: Blaise Zabini is a Slytherin sex god. Granted, I have let him 'slither in' fairly easily, but what red-blooded woman wouldn't? He is YUMMY. Could anyone resist? By the way, the answer is no. It's always no._ **

**_I mean, I'm sure there would be some disapproval from Paddie. Mum and Dad might have strokes if they knew. They're still holding out hope I'm going to meet a nice man from Delhi and marry him, but I don't know how many times I have to tell them that is not happening. We go to India every summer, and every bloody time, I come down with food poisoning or something that requires me to spend three days with my head in the toilet. And not because I've had too much tequila. _ **

**_It's not like I'm looking to strap him to a white picket fence or anything. We're just having a good time. We still pretend we're just colleagues with mutual disdain at the office. It seems to be working so far. No one's caught on at least -- even though the janitor nearly caught us at it like bunnies in the broom cupboard. Thank Merlin for a good locking spell._ **

**_To do: schedule cocktails with Lav and discuss._ **

♥ ♥ ♥

Lavender Brown was Parvati's best friend in the entire world, behind Padma, of course. Since their first day at Hogwarts, they'd been attached at the hip, and that hadn't changed since they'd left school. Best friends forever, and all that rot.

That didn't mean there weren't things about Lav that annoyed Parvati. Just like any two people who spent a great deal of time with one another, there were quirks that rubbed her the wrong way. 

The biggest one of which was this: whenever Lavender started seeing a new bloke, she tended to take on his personality and lifestyle as her own. The year she'd dated Seamus, Lavender's favorite drink had been Guinness, she'd learned to make corned beef and cabbage, and her entire wardrobe was _green_.

Right now, she'd have given anything for the stench of cooked cabbage.

The blonde's current partner was named Stefan. He was a Muggle chap and was a yoga instructor. But he wasn't a _normal_ yoga instructor. No, he was the type that lived the whole yogi lifestyle, which meant now _Lavender_ was living a yogi lifestyle.

Case in point: their usual dates of girly cocktails at a trendy bar had been changed to fresh squeezed green juices at a raw foods cafe. 

Parvati eyed the green drink distrustfully. Supposedly, it was some mixture of spinach, kale, lemon, and cayenne pepper. The only green thing she wanted to drink was an Appletini. According to Lavender, though, alcohol wasn't good for her chi.

"So, you've let Blaise Zabini into your sacral chakra," Lavender said serenely, sipping at a murky orange drink that was supposedly made of carrots. She smiled and ran her fingers through her long blonde hair. "How do you feel?"

"First off, I don't know what a sacral chakra is," Parvati pointed out, taking a polite sip of her juice. She nearly gagged. How the fuck did people drink this shit? "And secondly, if you're trying to say that I'm shagging Blaise Zabini, the answer is yes." She grinned at her best friend. "For a little over a month now. And Lav, it's been an _amazing_ month."

Lavender hummed and stretched, her thin cotton shirt stretching up to expose a swath of pale stomach. "You know, Stefan teaches a class specifically for improving sexual pleasure. You should really try it one day. It'll rock your world. Just think of all your energy, how deep it could be."

"Um... yeah. Thanks. I'll think about it, Lav." Not bloody likely. She _really_ needed to kick Seamus in the bollocks for ending things with Lavender. Better the devil she knew than the devil that turned her best friend into a vegan, holistic stranger who swore alcohol was bad for her tantric journey. "What do _you_ think about him? You're supposed to like, you know, give a critical judgement on all blokes who parade in and out of my life."

Twirling her finger in her carrot juice absentmindedly, Lavender sucked the orange liquid off her skin and shrugged. "I think his aura is a little murky," she started, quirking her head at an angle while she thought. "His prana is pretty dark. Do you think he's killed someone?"

Parvati just rolled her eyes. She had a grasp on basic Sanskrit -- _thanks, Mum_ \-- but it was just weird hearing her bubbly best friend throw out yoga terms like she used to throw out curse words. "No, Lav, I don't think he's killed someone. At least not _recently_. He's just... he's Blaise Zabini, you know? He's an enigma. I don't think I want to understand his aura or his energy. I just want to shag him silly."

Tossing back the rest of her carrot juice, Lavender nodded sagely and reached for her bag, where a slightly-new yoga mat was strapped. "Then keep shagging him, Vati. Maybe it will lead to some enlightenment. Now, I've got to dash. Stefan's teaching a four o'clock, and I just can't miss it!" She leaned over and kissed both of Parvati's cheeks, murmuring, "From the light within me to the light within you, _namaste_."

"Bye, Lav," Parvati murmured morosely. As soon her her friend was gone in a whirl of patchouli oil and hemp, she grabbed the bottle of spinach juice and chucked it in the bin. Good riddance to disgusting rubbish. "Good talk." 

So much for girl talk and gossip with her best friend. She _needed_ to owl Seamus and deliver that kick in the bollocks as soon as possible.

But first, she needed a stiff drink.

♥ ♥ ♥

**  
_September 10, 2003_  
**

**_I really probably shouldn't put all this in writing. I mean, I think we all know what happens when diaries become sentient and like, try to kill people. But I'm not pouring my soul into this thing -- so no harm, no foul? I also should probably stop writing about how good in bed Blaise is, but... it's fucking all I can think about these days. One man has turned me into a randy little nymphomaniac._ **

**_Last Saturday night, I was dozing off after a particularly energetic bout between the sheets, and I felt something HUGE against my hip._ **

**_Let's just say that... yeah. He's not slacking in the size department. And I am so not complaining._ **

**_We're not dating or anything formal like that. We're having fun. We have sex, we drink together. We've gone out dancing a few nights on the weekends -- which totally led to more sex, but there you go. It's casual, which is all I want._ **

**_No, I'm not sleeping with anyone else, and I don't think he is either. But we're not together. Not in that way. Though the longer I sit here and think about it, the more I'm conflicted. Do I want more with him? It's laughable, right? Totally crazy. No halfway sane person would look at a lineup of men and point out Blaise Zabini. "Yes, I think I would like to marry that person."_ **

**_Cause, like, if his Mum is any indication, he's not exactly one for monogamy. And I am so not starter wife material._ **

♥ ♥ ♥

"...And we've got that new sushi place opening up in Covent Garden, catering to both Muggles and wizards. I think we should feature that in 'About Town.' Trudy, can you get an interview with the chef ready for next week's issue?"

She knew she should have been paying attention. Monday morning editorial meetings were Very Important, where assignments were dished out and ideas were expected. If she wanted to move off makeup and horoscopes anytime before her thirtieth birthday, she'd have to grab the opportunity and use it to beat another writer. 

The unfortunate side to that was the fact that Monday morning editorial meetings were deadly dull. 

One would have thought they would be exciting, full of fashionable men and women talking about the latest trends and brainstorming how to keep _Witch Weekly_ on the forefront of womens' magazines. Instead, it was the same drivel, different week. They never lasted the allotted hour, instead running at least two -- yet no one ever thought to change the times on the calendar. 

All in all, Parvati was daydreaming. And who could blame her, when the object of her dirty little fantasies was sitting across the table?

Blaise, on the other hand, was the picture of interest. He listened to what the editors were discussing and occasionally added something to the conversation. To which Gertrude McPhlannery, the Nightlife Editor, would nod and say, "Excellent point, Mr. Zabini. What a novel idea!"

Bloody hell. He could suggest the magazine cover an orgy, and old Gertie would smile and talk about his innovative ideas. It _was_ slightly sickening. 

He caught her eye, and the corner of his lip twitched a bit. 

Parvati's lips pursed as she fought to keep down the rush of satisfaction. It was quite pleasing, having those intimate looks with someone. It was her and Blaise, and they had their inside jokes. Conversations that could be had with just a look, no need for words. (Which was helpful, since they were only thirty minutes into the meeting...)

And then she felt a hand on her thigh. 

Parvati nearly jumped out of her seat and glanced down at her lap, but there was nothing. No hand on her knee, moving inch by inch higher under her turquoise skirt. _What the bloody fuck?_ Her eyes darted around the conference room. Aside from Sabrina next to her, no one had noticed her sudden erratic actions. 

Except one person. Her gaze landed on Blaise. To the rest of the staff, he looked like he was listening attentively to the discussions. Only she noticed the way he glanced across the table out of the corner of his eye, the way a _teeny tiny_ smirk tugged at his lips.

Oh. _That mother fucker_. She sank back down in her seat and clamped her knees together, but still the invisible fingers moved higher. Her heart was racing when they traced circles on the insides of her inner thighs.

"Miss Patil?" 

"Yes?" Her voice was an octave higher than normal, her eyes wild. She prayed to whatever god was listening that they couldn't see the way she was sweating. 

"Are you feeling alright? You look a bit peaky," Gertrude asked, fixing her with a hawkish look. 

Parvati forced herself to laugh, though it sounded a bit like a strangled cough. "Oh yes, perfectly fine. There was just a spider... I think... on my leg. Or something." She sank back in her seat and tried not to glare at the 'spider's' puppet master. 

"Ghastly creatures, spiders. Perhaps you might incorporate one into this week's horoscopes!" The old bat laughed at her own joke. Apparently, she was finished with her witty commentary, as another editor started to drone on about coverage of Quidditch matches and who was sitting in the family boxes at each stadium. "And word is, Ginny Potter is up the duff. Dinner at Pied a Terre is on me for the first person who can get me photos of a baby bump!"

The ghost fingers were still there, but they hadn't moved any higher on her thighs. Parvati gave in to the urge to glare at Blaise. The bastard wouldn't meet her eyes, but she could see the amusement in his dark eyes. The fucker was _enjoying_ this.

Oh, he was _so_ going to pay.

♥ ♥ ♥

**  
_October 31, 2003_  
**

**_He’s asked me to go on a mini-holiday with him. He won’t tell me where -- bloody secretive git -- but he assures me that it’s a) somewhere outside the UK, and b) somewhere I’ll like. Of course, I said yes -- what sane girl would say no?_ **

**_Have I been mistaken? I used to think it was just sex… but you don’t go out of the country on holiday with someone you’re just wanting to shag. Right? I think that’s right._ **

**_It’s not like we could just jump into dating. He’s got some accountability issues, as in he disappears for a few days and no one seems to know where he is. I’m sure someone does, but he doesn’t tell we mere mortals where he’s gone off to. And he may have asked me to tone down my wardrobe just a bit -- so people would take me more seriously, you know? I personally don’t see what’s wrong with hot pink and leopard print, but he wears all black and you’d think he’s Britain’s Next Great Journalist. _ **

**_We’ll see how this mini-break goes. With a little luck and a Brazilian wax, it’s going to be perfect._ **

♥ ♥ ♥

Rolling off to the side, Parvati flung her hand out and arched her back, moaning in contentment. "God, that was good."

Next to her, she could hear her partner's ragged breathing, and a murmured, "Mhmmm. Really good."

The post-sex lethargy made her limbs heavy, and so Parvati wasn't inclined to move any more than she absolutely had to. Beneath her bare back, the sheets stuck to her skin, and through the half-open French doors, a gentle breeze blew in off the lake.

It had been Blaise's idea to get out of London for a mini-break, and Parvati had jumped at the chance. He hadn't told her where they were going, just to pack 'plenty of scanty bits of lace, and maybe one dress to wear outside.' She didn't know why she'd even bothered to pack her lingerie drawer. As soon as they'd reached the little villa in Lake Como, he'd peeled her dress and lacy underthings off, and she hadn't dressed herself since.

That had been nearly twenty-four hours ago. 

Her stomach chose that moment to grumble in hunger, and Parvati laughed breathlessly. "If you want to shag some more, you're going to have to feed me, Zabini. I might waste away here in this very lovely bed."

Eyes still shut, she felt his hand move to her bare stomach, pulling a shiver from her in reaction. "We have house elves," he murmured, tracing the tip of a finger around her navel. "We can have them prepare some _risotto alla milanese_ , maybe see if there's a bottle of Chianti in the cellar. 1990 was a particularly good vintage, if I'm remembering right."

Parvati snickered. "You're so full of shite, Blaise." She opened her eyes to look over at him, and she grinned. "I guess the sex is just going to have to make up for that."

His lips twitched. "I will have you know that I was raised on Italian wines. Mother's first, third, and sixth husbands were all Italian." He rolled to his side and propped himself up on his elbow. "It was my first language. We lived in Italy until I was six."

"Really? You don't have an accent." She hadn't known that about Blaise. He was enigmatic, a bit like an onion. There were layers, and she'd never made it past the outer skin. 

He raised a brow. "You don't have an Indian accent."

"That would be because I was born and raised in Norwich," she countered. "We only ever went to India during the summer hols."

Blaise shrugged. "Italian was my first language, but her second husband was a Brit. That's when I started learning English. When we moved to London, I mimicked the way the other kids talked. My accent was gone by the time I started at Hogwarts."

With a bit of effort, Parvati rolled onto her side to face him. "Well, that explains your affinity for this place." His hand moved over her hip and slid around, cupping her arse, and Parvati sighed. "I'm not going to be able to walk for a week if we don't take a break."

"There's a charm for that, I'm sure." Blaise leaned in to flick his tongue over her nipple. Gently, he pushed her onto her back and moved to lean over her body. 

"Blaise?" Parvati murmured his name as he trailed his lips down her stomach. "When we go back to England... this is just... we're casual, right?" She mentally kicked herself for the hint of uncertainty in her tone. "I mean, we're not _dating_ or anything. Like, that'd be totally mental."

He stilled in his caress, but she could feel his hot breath when he exhaled against her skin. "We work together, Parvati," she felt his rumbling reply, the words muffled by her stomach. "There are policies."

_They were there when you fucked me at a work event_ , she didn't point out. Instead, she managed a smile up at the ceiling. "Yeah, I know."

Slowly, he crawled back up her body until he was looming over her, his dark eyes looking down and meeting her own. "Listen. We fit really well together." He lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. "I don't think either of us are looking for forever, but..." he trailed off, and a crooked grin tugged at his lips. "We have fantastic sex."

Her lips twitched. "That we do."

"So. Since I don't want to stop having said fantastic sex, and if your screams earlier were any indication, neither do you..." Blaise ducked down and pressed his lips to the sensitive spot on her throat, the one the bastard _knew_ made her knees turn to jelly. (Good thing she was already naked and on her back...) "Then I don't see why we can't keep having it with each other."

"And no one else?"

Blaise pulled back and smirked at her. "Well, if you _wanted_ to bring someone else into it..."

Parvati smacked his shoulder lightly. "You'd have to get me well and truly pissed to agree to a threesome."

"Pity." Running his hand down her side, he let his fingers idly ghost over her hip. "No. Sex with you is all I need right now."

She smiled, the expression full of smug satisfaction. _Take that, universe!_ She was one step closer to cracking the Zabini Code. "Good." Her gaze flickered down to his hand, then back up to look at him through her dark lashes. "I suppose we might have time for _one_ more round before you feed me..."

"Risotto and room service," he promised. "Because it's not legal to rip your dress off and fuck you over the bar in public."

♥ ♥ ♥

**  
_December 17, 2003_  
**

**_I knew it was too good to be true._ **

**_Six months of mind blowing sex, and what does it get me? I'll tell you what -- NOTHING. ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. Except the pleasure of sitting alone at a cozy little Italian bistro, waiting on him to show up for dinner. Breaking news: he never showed. ~~I may or may not have drank an entire bottle of Chianti, but that's my own fucking business.~~ Is this what I deserve? No, it is not. _ **

**_But it gets better. HOW can it get better, Parvati? Oh, well, let me tell you. Settle around, boys and girls, because it’s story time!_ **

**_So, being the good person that I am, I thought, ‘Maybe he had to swing by the office and got tied up in something?’ After polishing that bottle of wine and about three baskets full of breadsticks, I managed not to splinch myself and got to the office in one, slightly tipsy piece. There was a light on in his office, so I was about to go in when I heard something._ **

**_A very soft, very feminine moan. So light and delicate, and decidedly _not_ me._ **

**_The tosser left the door cracked, so it’s his own damn fault. And what do I see? None other than ~~MY~~ Blaise fucking Zabini with Clara from Accounting’s thighs wrapped around his waist. ~~I’m going to fucking kill him~~ ~~What was I thinking?~~ ~~I am such an idiot~~. ~~I don’t want to be sober right now~~._ **

**_Where's the vodka?_ **

♥ ♥ ♥

There was a spotlight shining down on her. Parvati cringed and tried to protect herself from the overbearing light she could sense through her tightly-shut lids. Not even tossing the blanket over her head could protect her, if only because the sudden movement made her head pulse in pain.

Or was that because of someone shouting through a bullhorn?

"Fuck off," she croaked in a voice three octaves lower than normal. 

And suddenly, the blanket was ripped away from her grasp. Parvati jerked and moaned, cracking open one eye to glare at the rude being who'd stolen into her bedroom. What she was faced with was a _very_ familiar face set in disapproval. _Bugger_. "What you doing?"

"What am _I_ doing?" Her twin echoed, disbelief rife in her tone. "Vati, it's half past three. _In the afternoon._ "

Parvati groaned and rolled over, flinging one arm over her eyes. She didn't recall making it back to her flat, but there were a lot of things she couldn't recall -- such as how she'd forgotten to change into her pajamas to go to sleep, but somehow, her knickers were _still_ missing. The only thing she could remember was seeing the sun rise when she'd stumbled out of the club. _Ooops?_

"So?"

" _Sooooo_ ," Padma said, in that 'I was born three minutes before you, therefore you must listen to me' tone that annoyed Parvati to no end, "it's Sunday. The thirtieth. Of December." Her voice faded a bit, and Parvati snuck a peek to see her sister disappear into the closet. Still, she heard the last few words tacked on at the end. "Mum's birthday."

"Fuck." She sat up quickly and immediately regretted it. Parvati massaged her aching temples and moaned, "Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. Fuck me."

"There will be no fucking," her sister's voice called breezily from the closet, "of you or anyone else." She popped her head out to fix Parvati with a significant look. "Why do you think I'm here, after all?"

Her twin crinkled her nose. "To torment me?"

"To save you," Padma corrected. She exited the closet and headed for the loo, a parade of conservative dresses floating along behind her. Parvati heard the shower being turned on, and then her sister was back. "Right. First," she reached into her handbag and pulled out a bottle of a suspicious purple liquid, "you need to drink this, and then you're going to shower."

Vati's brow rose. "What is it?" It looked like some sort of runny potion. And who knew how much sugar was in it? She had to think of her hips!

Padma unscrewed the bottle top and handed it to her. "It'll help with your hangover."

At those words, Vati snapped, "Gimme." She brought the drink to her lips and took a deep swig, gulping it down fast enough that a little bit dribbled down her chin. When she took a break to breathe, she exhaled and looked up at her sister. "It tastes like grapes."

Padma smirked. "It's a Muggle dehydration drink for babies with diarrhea. One of the girls at the office uses it to combat hangovers when her ex has the children."

"I should pitch an article about this," Parvati thought aloud, taking another sip. "Maybe then... awwwwww, _fuck me!_ "

"What? What's wrong?" Padma asked in concern, sitting down next to her sister and turning her to face her. "What's wrong?"

" _That's_ what I was supposed to be doing last night," she whined. "At that party. I was trying to get the scoop on who Oliver Wood was shagging." The Puddlemere United keeper was seeing _someone_. She could feel it. Unfortunately, he was notoriously tight-lipped about his personal life. _Witch Weekly_ would kill to know who the lucky lady was, and all of their usual sources had come up empty. "If I could take that to Eleanor, maybe she'd at least move me off horoscopes."

Padma smiled sympathetically and patted her hand. "Don't frown like that, Vati, you'll get wrinkles. Besides, Oliver was only at the party last night for a half hour."

Parvati nodded and took another swig of her drink. "I guess that's something. Wait..." She fixed a quizzical look on her twin. "How do _you_ know where he was last night?"

Her sister's lips curled a little. "Because he was with me." The smile immediately fell off her face, and she pointed at Parvati seriously. "And if you even _think_ of printing that in your magazine, I will set fire to every single designer shoe in your closet, Parvati Deepu Patil, so help me."

She gaped at her sister, but then the words slowly sunk into her alcohol-logged brain. Padma. Her twin. Her low maintenance, barrister sister, was having sex with the most sought after wizard in Britain. Her hangover momentarily forgotten, Parvati squealed and threw her arms around her twin. The empty bottle of purple liquid from Heaven tumbled to the floor. "I can't believe it! When did this start? How long have you been shagging?" She pulled back, a lascivious grin on her face. "Is he as good as he should be?"

With a pat on the back, Padma rose gracefully from the bed and chucked the plastic bottle in the bin. "Almost two months. We were at a mutual friend's party, and things just... happened." She glanced back at her sister, and a smile that could almost be described as _smug_ was on her lips. "And if you think I'm giving you details of our sex life, you're out of your bloody mind."

"Awww, _Paddie_." Parvati flounced in displeasure. How could her sister walk into a party and come out with the number one pick from _Witch Weekly's_ list of Most Eligible Quidditch Studs, but she got cheated on by someone she wasn’t even seeing? "Well, my love life is in shambles, but I'm happy for you." She glanced up at her sister, a rare feeling of vulnerability leaving her feeling raw and exposed. "I've been shagging a coworker. I know I shouldn't have, but I just _wanted to_. And then he stood me up for dinner last week."

Padma tossed her robe at her. It landed squarely on top of Parvati's head, but she could still hear her sister's voice. "And getting tossed is the best thing to do? Don't take it out on yourself, Vati. Take it out on _him_." She didn't have to see her twin to know she had already thought through the legal ramifications of what _that_ might be. "In a completely legal and calm manner, of course."

"Of course," Parvati parroted softly. As she pulled the terrycloth robe off her head, her gaze met her twin's, and she smiled serenely. "Of course."

♥ ♥ ♥

**  
_January 17, 2004_  
**

**_It could have been worse?_ **

**_All in all, I honestly think I handled it in a calm, rational manner. Other women might have done something rash, like take out a full page ad in The Daily Prophet or cut his bollocks off. That's a normal reaction when you find your ~~boyfriend~~ lover shagging a  different coworker. On his desk, where you'd shagged several times after hours. You'd think I would have expected it, but no, I ignored those warning signs. I was patient and said “Of course!” when he had to cancel dinner at the last minute. I did everything he asked me to, and I didn’t push back._ **

**_That’s sickening. That’s not who I am. I’m not the doormat. I’m the door STOPPER._ **

**_It just a teensy little case of arson. Not a big deal! I cast all the proper charms and kept the fire contained to his desk. I can neither confirm nor deny if his favorite wool jumper was on top of his desk when I set the fire, though. I can confirm there was tequila involved. It told me that my crazy idea was completely valid._ **

**_Needless to say, I will not be shagging Blaise Zabini again, ever. Not in a million years. _ **

**_Eleanor took it well enough. I think. A month’s suspension without pay, and it'll go on my permanent record. And a restraining order, delivered from his barrister, but that's not exactly surprising. SO now I've got thirty-one days to myself. It's like a holiday. I can do all those little projects I've been putting off, like cleaning out my closet, organizing the kitchen, and hanging all the pictures I've had stacked in frames since I moved in._ **

**_~~Maybe I'll even take a cooking class, branch out a bit.~~ Never mind, can't do that. I need to save my money to make up for the entire paycheck and a half I'll be missing. _ **

**_I think what I'm most upset about is Eleanor. There's not a chance in Hell she's going to promote me after this, is she? Like, the idea of her looking at me with disappointment makes me sick to my stomach. I mean, despite the coffee runs, I admire her so much. I was reading an article about young professional women and career mentors, and I can see Eleanor being mine. Or I could, before I let tequila and a jealous rage get the best of me._ **

**_Bloody men._ **

♥ ♥ ♥

By Day Fifteen of her mandatory suspension, Parvati had learned more about her neighborhood than she had since she moved in three years prior. She'd haggled over an antique bureau at the shop around the corner, and the sweet little owner had been kind enough to put it on hold until she had some disposable income. A particularly delightful find had been the tea parlor three doors down from her flat.

It was nondescript, almost shabby, but it was cozy -- stuffed with mismatched armchairs and coffee tables, with a brick fireplace in the corner. And best of all, the tea and scones were cheap. It had become Parvati's early afternoon ritual to head downstairs with a magazine and order a cup of Earl Grey and a cinnamon raisin scone. 

She was flipping through a Muggle fashion magazine when a shadow crossed the glossy pages. "Fancy seeing you here."

Her fingers curled in a fist, and she had to tamp down the urge to reach for her wand. "I thought we weren't allowed to be within fifty meters of each other," she said, her voice deceptively calm despite the anger running through her body. "Your restraining order was quite clear on that."

Uninvited, Blaise sat down in the chair across her little table and folded one ankle over his knee, completely at ease with himself and the world. "My lawyers insisted," he corrected. "You know how it is."

"Do I?" Parvati fixed him with an icy look. "Please, do enlighten me. If you didn't want to date me, you didn't have to find another office conquest. You could have just, you know, acted like a human and _told me_." Typical bloody Slytherin with the emotional range of a shoe. He’d told her about his _childhood_ , for fuck’s sake, yet he couldn’t say anything about _not_ wanting to keep sleeping with her?

He held his hands up. "Clara was, I admit, a mistake. It was an old thing that was rekindled at the wrong time. It didn’t mean anything."

_“It didn’t mean anything?”_ she echoed incredulously. Was that what passed for an apology? She made a 'hmph' of displeasure. "Is that supposed to make it better?"

He shrugged. It was bloody annoying, how he could make a damn show of indecision look so practiced and elegant. "Parvati, come on. We both knew it was casual, between us."

"I'm not arguing with that." Parvati's lips pursed, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "We'd been shagging for six months, Blaise. Casual is fine, but it's not sustainable. I thought I liked you, and I _thought_ it might be something we could turn into something more defined." Her fingers toyed with a bite of scone, mashing it into crumbles on the plate. "Your methods of thinking otherwise leave something to be desired."

The corner of his lips curled. "I'm not the boyfriend type, Vati. Never have been." His dark gaze met hers, and there was something there that she couldn't quite describe. It almost looked like... _regret_. "But I don't want to let you go."

Her jaw dropped. "Are you... you're _not_." 

Blaise shrugged. "Am I?"

She barked out a laugh. "You have _got_ to be kidding me. Let me put it to you clearly, in small words that your pea-sized brain can understand: I will never _ever_ engage in any shagging, fucking, intimacy, love-making, or any types of sexual activity with you again. Clear enough?"

He smiled lazily at her. "Aren't you overreacting a bit, Vati?" He reached out for her scone and took a small bite. "We're too alike. We need each other."

Parvati had to swallow past the angry lump in her throat. She wanted to reach across the table and wrap her fingers around his neck. Or punch him in the nose. _Anything_ to let out the anger and frustration. "No," she said softly, looking down at her clenched fists. "I don't need you at all." Her gaze rose to meet his, and she added, "And don't call me Vati. Only friends call me that, and we are _not_ friends."

"I'd say we're more than strangers," he countered. He stood and looked down at her. "You know where to find me."

"In Hell, hopefully." She pointed to the door. "Get. Out."

She clenched her teeth and watched him leave, tamping down the need to run after him and hex the living shite out of him. Bloody Blaise Zabini. Perhaps she should write an article for the magazine about it. Consider it a public service and share the warning signs with other witches. 

The sound of a teacup rattling against a saucer startled her. She glanced away from the door at the elderly, plump owner of the tea shop. She was a sweet Muggle who reminded Parvati of Professor Sprout. 

She patted Parvati gently on the shoulder. "On the house, dearie. There's a little nip of something to help calm you down." She smiled in understanding. "I know his type." 

"I might need the bottle." She reached for the new cup of tea and took a sip -- then nearly spit it out, coughing. The whiskey to tea ratio was at least three to one. "God, I needed that. _Thank you_."

♥ ♥ ♥

_  
**April 20, 2004**  
_

_**I’ve been giving it a lot of thought, and I honestly just don’t think writing in a diary is for me. Last night, I sat down and reread everything I wrote over the past year. Honestly? It’s all shite. Maybe it’s the concept of a diary, but my writing style reverts back to ‘third year Hogwarts student in the throes of her first crush.’ I’m not my sister, but I do know how to write in proper sentences.** _

_**This is it, then. I’m not going to do anything rash like burn this book (even though that might be the wisest course of action). Rather, I think I’m going to keep it so that if I ever get involved with another emotional fuckwit (note to self: see entry from May 1, 2003 for the full list of undesirable qualities), I can look back and remind myself what a bloody terrible idea it is.** _

_**So here’s to you, old faithful diary. You’ve had the distinct pleasure -- or displeasure -- of bearing witness to some of my stupidest decisions. To future Parvati: never shag Slytherins, never date vegan yogis, and never commit arson the workplace. ** _

_**And if a boy says your shoes are too “loud,” then toss him to the curb immediately.** _

_**(Speaking of vegan yogis, LAVENDER BROKE UP WITH HER BOYFRIEND! Thank god.)** _

♥ ♥ ♥

Parvati's stomach was in knots. She wasn't a brainiac like her twin, but even she knew that receiving a summons from one's boss wasn't a good thing. It'd been nearly three months since she'd returned from her post-Zabini meltdown and subsequent suspension, and she'd been on her best behavior. She'd chugged out horoscopes and advice on lipstick with a smile on her face. She'd ignored the office gossips who whispered about her over their lunch break.

Or at least, they used to whisper about her. Then the news had surfaced that one of the advertising associates had been pocketing money for ad buys, and they'd all moved to _that_ bit of juicy gossip. 

Still, she couldn't help but fret as she approached Eleanor's office. Was she about to be sacked? Fuck it all, how would she ever face her parents _then_?

She knocked lightly on the office door and poked her head in. "Morning, Eleanor. Your memo said you wanted to see me?"

"Oh, yes." The older woman waved her in. "Come in, and please shut the door."

Her heart sank into her stomach. Doing as requested, she shut the door behind her. It closed with a heavy 'thunk,' an ominous portent of doom for her seemingly failed career as a magazine writer. Why, oh why, had she not updated her CV during her suspension? 

She sat down into the seat across from her editor, perched on the edge -- just in case she needed to make a quick exit. Her fingers gripped her small, leather bound notebook tightly. Her nerves were wound tight, but she'd be _damned_ if anyone else saw it.

Eleanor reached for a quill and a sheet of parchment, then pushed her glasses back up her nose with the tip of her finger. She shook her head as if to steady herself, and then smiled warmly at Parvati. "Parvati. How are you?"

It took her a moment to recognize the simple question. Particularly since Eleanor's opening line hadn't been something along the lines of, _"Pack your desk."_ Parvati blinked owlishly. _I'm wound tighter than Mrs.Norris being chased by firsties. How do you think I am?_

"I'm fine," she said instead. "I'm good. Working hard on this issue's horoscopes. I'll have you a copy for review before I leave tonight."

"Ah." Eleanor steepled her fingers together and fixed her with a serious look. "That was what I wanted to talk to you about."

_Here it comes_. Perhaps she could become a bartender at some trendy club. Wear a short little skirt and flirt with handsome blokes. It could work...

"You're a valuable asset to my team, Parvati, and I don't think you're being challenged enough." 

She was startled out of her reverie. Unable to keep from gaping, she very professionally replied, "Come again?"

Eleanor's smile was knowing. "Did you think I was calling you in so I could fire you?"

Parvati felt her cheeks color. "No...maybe..." she mumbled, glancing down at her lap. 

Her boss laughed, but it wasn't unkind. "I was not joking when I said you're a valuable asset to the team here, Parvati. You're young, and you made a mistake. You're going to make more. It's how you learn from those mistakes that show what kind of person you are." She reached for her coffee mug and took a sip, then fixed Parvati with a meaningful look. "The situation with Blaise was not good. There were some higher up in management who wanted to let you go."

She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "I'm so sorry I disappointed you like that, Eleanor," she whispered, a hot feeling of shame washing over her. "I should have been stronger."

"Oh, Parvati." Eleanor looked at her with sympathy. "Listen to me. You are a brave, strong, intelligent young woman. The sum of who you are should not be defined by a man, I don't care how attractive or appealing he is. Don't compromise who _you_ are just to please a bloke."

"I won't, not again," she promised in a soft voice, the words a bit strangled due to the lump in her throat. 

"Good. I fought for you. Now, I want to see you fight for yourself." Eleanor reached into a folder and withdrew a small packet of papers. "Your first assignment is a probationary one. If the editorial board and I are pleased with your work, then there's a very strong chance we can move you permanently off horoscopes."

"Really?" Parvati reached up to brush the moisture from her eyes. "What's my task?"

"I want you to handle one of the profiles for our list of Hottest Quidditch Studs." She passed the packet across the desk to Parvati. "The Montrose Keeper was just called up from the reserve squad, and it's got the whole sporting world in a buzz."

That meant about as much to Parvati as Arithmancy, but she tucked the dossier inside her notebook and nodded. "Right. I won't let you down, Eleanor, I promise."

"I know you won't, Parvati." She waved toward the door. "Set up a time to chat with Ross. He's scheduling interviews with all the publicists, and you'll need to do some background research on this chap."

She was already halfway out the door, a goofy grin on her face. "Already on it. Thank you so much, Eleanor!" 

Parvati nearly skipped back to her desk. _Nothing_ was going to bring her down. She was on Cloud Nine, high as a kite, happy as a lark. She wasn't going to be fired -- at least, not today -- and she was _finally moving away from fucking horoscopes_. Ready to start on her new assignment, she opened her notebook to see who she was profiling... and her smile immediately screwed into a distasteful grimace. What was it with her and complete fucking arseholes? 

"Zacharias Smith?" She groaned. "You have _got_ to be kidding me."

_Bloody men_.


End file.
